Anastasia Romanova
by lostloveloki
Summary: Anastasia Romanova- the lost princess of Russia remembers the last conversation she had with her mother, before the fateful day that would end the rule of the Tsar for all time. Mild Natasha/Winter Soldier


A/N: So imagine Russia around the time of the revolution...

"Anastasia!"

Nastya's green eyes flickered in panic as her mother's voice reverberated off the walls of her ornate chamber. The chamber was filled with the most fashionable tiles, curtains, linens, ornaments, jewelry, and paintings which money could buy, all of which had been handpicked by an expert in what seemed to be eons ago. By now, the happy halls of the palace were barren apart from their family and their perpetual sentries, which reminded her that this was no longer a home but a comfortable prison cell. The tides had turned against them, as the north wind blew into their faces with freshly frosted hearts everywhere you looked.

Turning sideways, she quickly slipped the stolen dagger, behind her back, bowing slightly as her mother, the once powerful Tsarina Alexandra, walked into the room with a disapproving tilt of her head. Despite the urgency that rung in Alexandra's voice, her pace was slow and filled with the practiced grace of a woman to whom millions had looked up to for decades. Her demure pearls glistened in the torchlight, and her long, cream dress moved seamlessly around the middle-aged woman, not even daring to give away her mortality through the ruffling of silks. Her hands were clasped together, and her head held high. There was only a touch of colour to her cheeks and lips, which were from the last remnants of make-up she had scrounged from old containers.

"What have you done to your hair, dotchka," she chastised her Anastasia, "How often have I told you that we must not let the image slip away? The people may not look to us the same way they once did, but we must remain role models, sources of strength and propriety. We must give them a sense of continuity, even if there is no power in our commands anymore." Nastya's followed her mother's gaze slip towards the door she'd entered through and watched as the guard closed it, murmuring something about 'womenfolk' and 'vanity'.

Anastasia nodded submissively, taking her mother's preoccupation with the door as a chance to silently slip the dagger into an open drawer beside her. She stepped forwards and back just at the right angle so that the drawer 'accidentally' shut after contacting her hip.

"I won't have you walking through this palace looking like a sewer rat," Alexandra continued keeping her voice clear and even, making sure the guard would hear her, "Not as long as there is still breath in my body." Alexandra raised her chin, and Anastasia mimicked the motion. They looked at each other for several moments, sizing each other up, but Anastasia knew she could not equal her mother's willpower. Sighing, she turned to the vanity.

"There are merely a few loose strands, Matusha," she protested as another strand fell out of her weakly constructed updo, and this time covered her eyes. Quickly, she grabbed the rebellious strand, and tugged it behind her ear, only to have it fall forward again, defying its dictated bounds.

"It will not suffice," Alexandra insisted, grabbing hold of her daughter and forcing her to take a seat. Anastasia couldn't help but smile at her mother's determination to uphold these charades, as Alexandra grabbed hold of Anastasia's well-worn hairbrush. She held the handle between her teeth and she reached forwards to untangle the unruly thick hair from its irregular prison. She tenderly drew her fingers through several braids, and undid several fine hair ties and hairclips, so that Anastasia's hair cascaded over her back. The vibrant red tresses shone in the soft light, highlighting her cat-like green eyes, and framing her face. The soft brush stroked through her hair with maternal affection, alternating with the gentle strokes of her mother's slender fingers. Yet despite comfort and routine of the daily procedure, Alexandra's fingers trembled slightly. Her once firm grip was shaky, and hesitant, though the rest of her was composed to perfection. "You must learn to take care of yourself, little one. I cannot always be there for you and your sisters," she spoke, her voice thick with meaning.

Anastasia sighed, looking down at her porcelain hands, not noticing the subtle inflection in her mother's words. She stared at her slightly hardened fingertips from secretly practicing close combat fighting with her former best friend, secret lover, and the man that had ultimately handed over her family to the revolutionaries… If only she'd known what a venomous snake he was, she would have never opened up her heart, her secrets, and ultimately her body to that scheming dog. But it was her naiveté and her trusting nature which protected her from the truth of his hard and ugly nature until even she could no longer deny that he was a monster.

"I know, Matusha. Alexei needs you more than I-"

"Oh hush, Nastya, you know that is not what I meant."

Only the sound of the brush echoed through the air for several seconds, before Nastya relented. Looking up into the mirror she locked eyes with her mother's image, and raised a brow. "Then what do you mean? Surely Olga, Tatjana and Maria don't need you. They're already married or betrothed…"

"Oh Anastasia…you don't understand… It is not about who latches onto me and who doesn't…" She put the brush back down and carefully swept Anatasia's hair back, stroking it gently. "I am old and you are young," Alexandra spoke carefully, "One day your father and I will no longer be around to take care of you, and you need to be prepared for that." Though her voice was only as reprimanding as usual, there was a fresh tightness in her eyes.

Nastya, straightened up slightly, and gazed piercingly at the reflection. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," Alexandra answered softly but her traitorous lips quivered and water rushed to her eyes. Before she could even attempt to hold it all back, her last remnants of control crumbled, and thick, ugly tears slid down her cheeks. Her body seemed to curl within itself, as she forced her hand over her mouth to suppress the sobs that convulsed through her for the first since the revolution had begun.

"Mamulya!" Anastasia stood and spun around immediately, embracing her mother, who immediately relented into the touch.

"Oh, Nastya- It's horrible! I-I- I think they're going to k-kill your father and I!" Alexandra gasped in soft whispers, quivering as she stared at the door in terror.

"How can you say that? Is it so dire?" Nastya whispered painfully, following her gaze. All those guards were spies, sentinels, and prospective executioners waiting for the right commands. Not a single soul was still loyal to the Romanov's, not in the wild newfangled order that the new political engines were trying to create.

Alexandra nodded, helplessly trying to pull away a little, but unable to bring herself to do it. "They won't rest until they've killed us all, Nastya! I can feel it in their gazes! They won't rest until every drop of our blood is spilt!"

"Can't we do anything to stop them?" Anastasia pleaded, grabbing her mother's shoulders brazenly for the first time in her life. Alexandra had always been the rock in her life. The silent power that ruled the family behind closed doors. The strength that their empire was built upon. She was the calm tempest that kept the world in its safe frames…

"Please," Alexandra begged, cupping her daughter's face. "If anything were to happen to me and your father, you must run for your life!"

"But what about my siblings?"

"They don't know, Nastya, and they don't want to notice all the signs. They live in denial, and I fear they wouldn't believe me if I told them. Nastya," she quietly pulled the dagger out of the drawer and placed it in Nastya's lap, drawing a gasp from her daughter. "Save them if you can. I wish to God, that you will save us all, but it is too much to ask of such a young woman. If only I had learnt to fight, I would try to fight our way free somehow…" Anastasia's eyes became impossibly wide at the strange concession. Was it truly that bad?

"I know that you can fight- don't ask how. I won't tell you. And I don't judge you for desiring to learn what is outside your father's will… But … When the time comes, try to save your siblings if you can. Only if you can."

"But-"

"Nastya, my child… I if you can't save them…then run. Run for your life and don't look back."

"But-"

"If it must be done, I would rather at least one of my precious children survives, than losing all of you. If you all perish, our lives, our past, your future plans… will all have been futile," another gross sob broke through the former Tsarina. She grabbed a handkerchief from the vanity, and wiped her face carefully, trying to preserve the little rouge she still had.

"Mamulya, don't cry. Don't cry. We'll all be fine. They'll let us leave the country, and then we'll be happy elsewhere-"

"Oh Nastya, you're ever the optimist," she shook her head again. "We won't live. I can feel it in my bones, even in this uncertain world… But I know one thing for certain. There's a secret passage behind the fireplace in this very chamber. I don't know how to open it, for I was never told, but take this mission, and find the entrance. Find a way out of this cursed palace. Find it."

"Matu-"

Everything faded to black. The world spun out of control, and soon there were only her sharp footsteps as she ran in the stifling darkness. The endless corridor engulfed her in a void of black, only her breathless panting coloured the icy air in front of her.

Tortured cries emanate from behind her, as the woman who had given her life pleaded on her knees, and the man who had raised her shouted despairingly for a chance to go in exile.

Little Alexei screamed his lungs out one last time.

The harsh blaring of machine guns exploded behind her, extinguishing the voices forever. Bodies thudded to the ground like heavy, wet bags of potatoes, and the raucous laughter of hateful men filled the air.

"Mamulya!" she whispered into the darkness.

The echoes of her mother's voice reverberated through her mind, gently calling in her sweet and melodious voice, "Nastya… Nastya… Nastya…"

"Natalia? Natalia? Wake up!" Vanya whispered, shaking her carefully, trying not to accidentally hurt her with the bionic arm which gripped her bare shoulder.

"Mamulya?" she whispered, blinking tears away with difficulty, only realizing then where she truly was. The moisture stopped trickling from her eyes, as she pushed herself into an upright seating position, up against the thick feather pillows..

"I'm sorry, Natsha. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just me, Vanya. You were crying in your sleep-"

"Vanya? I-I didn't mean to wake you…" She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and sniffed. Just as she reached for a tissue, he handed her a handkerchief from his bedside table, twisting his bare torso beneath the sheets so that he could dab her tears away.

"Few would mean to wake the Winter Soldier ласковая моя… But I do not mind waking for you, teacher."

She smiled weakly at that. It had been quite a while since she had trained the young man into the lethal spy he was now, and it had been a long time too since she had allowed him into her bed. They were as much teacher and student now, as she would ever be a mother to his children. Those prospective did not exist for them anymore.

"What did you dream of?" he asked with a yawn, slinking back into the duvet, nestling comfortably and looking up to her. Her hesitation was so brief that the untrained eye wouldn't notice it. But Vanya was no fledgling spy.

"I dreamt of my mother. I was but a child, and then I remembered that it all had to be a dream as my mother is long dead," she spoke her half-truths, carefully gazing into his eyes with the conviction of talented liar. Nevertheless, Vanya's lips drew into a lopsided frown.

He knew she lied. It was their profession, their line of work. A spy trusted no one, especially not her lover….It had been foolish to even hope that she would be honest.

She stretched out, and lay down again; carefully resting her head back onto the pillow of the honeymoon suite they had acquired for their mission. She moved closer to him, pressing her back to his chest encouragingly.

Sighing silently, he protectively wrapped his bionic arm around her and pulled her closer.

He didn't see her wince as the memory of the haunting cries of her family ran through her blood at Vanya's cold metal touch.

"Good night, Vanya," she whispered, closing her eyes, wishing on the graves of her family that things could have been different.

She hadn't been able to protect her family.

But now she would protect Vanya, even if her life depended on it.

A/N: Thank you for reading! That was my first Winterwidow fic!  
Please drop a comment, and tell me whether you like the idea.


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